


Secret Admirer

by Satine86



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Mild Language, Mild Smut, Romance, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 09:06:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4342487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine86/pseuds/Satine86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassandra has been receiving love notes. The only problem is they’re not from Varric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret Admirer

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from tumblr, and as I said there: This is ridiculous and self-indulgent and completely got away from me but I’m not the least bit sorry.

She found him sitting in the Herald's Rest, sharing breakfast with Iron Bull and a smattering of the Chargers. They were laughing, sharing stories as they often did. 

Cassandra did not hesitate as she crossed the room, stopped next to Varric's chair and bent forward to kiss him thoroughly. This earned several whoops and catcalls from Bull and his Chargers, but she didn't care. It was no longer a secret they were together, had been common knowledge for months now, and she felt he very much deserved a reward for his thoughtfulness. 

When she pulled back Varric wore a dazed expression, eyes unfocused. After a moment he collected himself and looked up at her curiously. 

“Now, don't take this the wrong way, Seeker, because that was _very_ enjoyable and I do appreciate it.” He swallowed, pressed his lips together. “But what was that for? I'll need to make a note so I can do it again.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “For the note; the poem.” 

Varric lowered his brows, perplexed. “Which poem?” 

“The one left at the bottom of the steps this morning. I found it on my way here.” She pulled it from where she had it tucked inside her jerkin. “See?”

She held it out to him. There was no mistaking her name scrawled across the front. Varric took it slowly from her fingers, unfolding it carefully. His eyes darted over the page as he read. When he was finished he folded it again and sat it on the table, lacing his fingers. 

“Well, I have to admit it's very good, but I didn't write it.” 

“You did not?” 

“You know my handwriting by now, Seeker. I'm surprised that slipped past you.”

“I just assumed it was you.” She stared at the note, brows furrowed. “But if you did not write it, Varric, who did?” 

“A secret admirer?” Bull reached across the table and plucked up the folded note. Cassandra jumped into action.

“No! Don't!” she cried, trying to snatch it from his fingers. “That is private.”

Bull looked at her blandly. “You want help figuring out who sent it?” She nodded. “Then let me read it for clues.” 

“Oh, fine.”

“Relax, Seeker. It's not like it's anything tawdry.” Varric leaned back in his chair, regarding her closely. “So if you do have a secret admirer, should I be jealous? Are you going to leave me for some lovelorn poet?

“Varric!” she hissed as the Chargers started sniggering. She frowned at them before turning her attention back to Varric. “I would never.” 

“I don't know, Seeker.” He was laughing now, Maker take him. “Poetry never has been my strong suit, and I know you love it. You might find this writer's amorous attentions far more appealing than mine.” 

“This is not funny, Varric!” She nearly stamped her foot like a petulant child, but stopped herself in time. She instead settled for crossing her arms, nose wrinkled. 

“All right, all right. I'm sorry, Cassandra.” He held out his hand to her, face entreating. She eyed him a moment before slipping her hand into his. “What's the verdict, Tiny?” 

“Good news: nice poem. Bad news: no tells.” He tossed the letter onto the table.

“None? Not even for a skilled Ben-Hassrath agent?” 

“It's parchment from the stockroom, nothing fancy like you use, Varric. Or the stuff they use for official business. So anyone could've taken it. The handwriting is amazingly generic. No flourishes. Hell, it doesn't even smell like anything besides paper and ink. And Cassandra.” 

“You _smelled_ it?” 

“Yeah. Tasted it too.” 

She gasped. 

Bull tilted back his head and laughed. “Nah, I'm just shittin' you. Though I don't think I can help track down your poet. Maybe if there were more.” 

“There will be no more.” She snatched up the note. “This was a fluke. Or perhaps a joke. I do not want to hear another word of it, is that clear?” 

Varric held up his hands. “I won't say a word about my competition.” 

Cassandra made a noise in the back of her throat and whirled around on her heels, storming out of the tavern. As she stomped back to the smithy, she prayed it would all blow over in a few days.

* * * 

The only problem was that it was not a fluke. Nor did anyone forget about it within a few days, not when the notes kept arriving. 

They were spaced out, three days between them. Just long enough for her to hope it was over. Each poem was just as lovely as the first one, and just as genetically written according to Bull. Eventually the notes started getting extra touches, like pressed flowers stuck between the folds. 

She had posted guards to see if they could catch the poet in action while leaving the note at the foot of the stairs in the smithy, but then their position had changed. She found them by the training dummies, or the dining hall. The most recent one she had found on her pillow, attached to a blooming rose. 

In truth it was all quite romantic. To think someone had taken the time to write these beautiful words for her, to go through the trouble of delivering them; to go through the trouble of romancing her. She only wished it were Varric. 

Their relationship was strong, and things were good. But they had fallen into a pattern, the last few months especially. It was good, steady and sure and comforting. Though sometimes she missed the spontaneity of the earlier time. 

Reading over the latest poem, Cassandra sat cross-legged on Varric's bed while he sat at his writing desk, working on his newest manuscript. 

“I only wish I knew what it meant,” she said, looking up from the letter. It was the most personal of the poems so far, an ode to her beauty. 

“It means they've got a crush on you, Seeker.” 

“But why?” 

Varric sighed and pulled off his reading glasses, turning to look at her fully. “Do you really need me to answer that?”

“No... I suppose not.” She glanced down at the poem again. “Are you truly not jealous? Not even a little bit?” 

“Do I have reason to be?” He sat back in his chair, drawing the feather on his quill between his fingers. “Should I be stomping around Skyhold, demanding the identity of your would-be suitor? Or perhaps I could challenge him to a duel at dawn?” 

“That happened in one of your stories.” She rolled her eyes. 

“It did.” Varric laughed, tossing down his quill. He rose from his chair and crossed the room to the bed, and leaned his face in close to hers. “Cassandra?” 

“Varric,” she mimicked his tone. 

“Do you love me?” 

She smiled. “Yes, of course I do.” 

“And I love you. There is absolutely no reason for me to doubt that, or be jealous of some person sending anonymous notes.” He closed the gap between them, pressing a gentle kiss against her mouth. She licked her lips when he pulled, watching him return to his desk. 

She was glad he felt secure, knew that he was loved. That was all she wanted for him... and yet, she was disappointed? She didn't want him to be _jealous_ , she wanted him to be... what? Possessive? No. That was not right either. She wanted him to care. She wanted to feel like he would fight for her. 

Maker, she was turning into a simpering girl. She covered her face and flopped back against the pillows. Next she would be asking him to actually fight a duel for her. 

* * * 

The final straw for Cassandra was when the token attached to the notes went from flowers and pretty little baubles, to a beautiful golden chain with a pendant bearing the symbol of Andraste. It was gorgeous and likely very, very expensive. 

This couldn't go on any longer. She had to speak with her secret admirer, and tell them that while she was immensely flattered her heart very much belonged to Varric. Even if he was not nearly as romantic. 

With her mind made up, she left her own letters. All tucked away in the places she had found the poems originally. She spoke to Iron Bull in the tavern, loudly proclaiming that she needed to speak with the author of the poems. 

Each note said that she would wait for them in the clearing north of Skyhold, each evening for three days. She figured that would give them plenty of time to find the notes, and hopefully, make up their mind to reveal themself. 

When she told her plan to Varric, he had been bland about it. 

“It is a pretty necklace,” he had commented when she held it up. “Very you. They obviously pay attention. I might be worried about meeting a stalker alone, but of course you can handle yourself.” 

“That is it?” she asked. “That is all you have to say, 'you can handle yourself'?” 

“Well, you can. Hell, you can handle yourself better than Tiny.” He looked at her closely. “Do you need me to do something?” 

“No, Varric. I do not need you to do anything. Apparently.”

She had stormed out of his room and gone to the clearing. She had waited the allotted amount of time, with no sign of anyone. 

When she returned to Skyhold she avoided Varric. She was angry but she couldn't even explain why. That only made her more angry. 

The next day went exactly the same: she went to the clearing, waited until the time was up, then returned and ignored Varric. Though, she noted with a twinge of bitterness, he did not try very hard to speak with her. 

On the third day, she waited long past the time she had set. She waited until the sun was setting and the stars were starting to come out, glittering in the sky. 

She was disappointed. In the darkness with no one around, she could admit that. It had been nice to feel desired in such a delicate, romantic way. It had been nice to feel like she was being wooed. Of course it was silly. She knew that. She loved Varric and she would not trade that for the world, but.. it had still been nice. 

Sighing, she braced her hands on her thighs and stood up from the stump she'd been sitting on. Turning around, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she found Varric leaning against a tree. 

“How did you get there!?” she demanded once she calmed.

“I'm a rogue. I can be very sneaky when I want to be.” 

“How long have you been there?” She paused. “Did you see anyone?”

“I've been here long enough to see you muttering to yourself in various stages of agitation. Other than that, not a soul.” He pushed away from the tree, sauntering over to her. 

“They did not come then.” Her shoulders sagged a bit. She felt ridiculous, but she could seem to help herself. 

Varric tilted his head, eyes scrutinizing in the dim light offered by the moon above. “Shit, Seeker, are you actually disappointed your stalker didn't show?” 

“They are not a stalker, Varric!” She frowned at him. “And I am not disappointed, that is the wrong word. I only feel... let down.” 

“Why is that?” 

“I do not know!” Cassandra tossed up her hands, looked anywhere but his face. She was being so foolish. With a sigh, she finally met Varric's gaze. If she could not be honest with _him_ , then what was the point of it? 

“I enjoyed the attention,” she finally said. “It was... it was pleasant. I felt special. It is not something you would understand.” 

“I wouldn't?” He arched a brow.

“No, you would not. I know your misgivings and your feelings on certain matters. Like you are second best. But the fact remains that you _are_ special. You have always been special.” She sucked in a breath, the words flowing freely. “You are Varric Tethras, you are a renowned writer. You are friend to the Champion of Kirkwall; you are one of the precious few within the Inquisitor's circle. You are admired by many, and thought of with great fondness by everyone who knows you.” 

“Cassandra,” he started, looking rueful. 

She held up her hand, cutting him off. “No. Let me finish.” She wet her lips. “I have offered nothing the Inquisition that could not have been done by any other person who can wield a sword. I am not thought of with fondness. I am brash and opinionated and harsh. I am... I am a warrior, hard and rough around the edges. But when I read those poems, I felt like a lady. I felt special and wanted and the words... I felt beautiful, Varric.”

Her voice cracked, the sting of tears pricking at her eyes, but she didn't care. “And to make matters worse, you do not care. You do not care one bit that someone showed interest in me. Does none of this matter to you? Do we not matter? Or did you really just think it was a joke, that no one would think those kinds of things about me; the blundering, angry Seeker?”

“Well, shit,” Varric muttered, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead. “This went sideways in epic fashion.” 

He moved forward and took her hand gently. “Will you sit down? Please?” 

Sniffing loudly, she did as he asked, retaking her seat on the stump behind them. This put her at eye level with Varric, and he moved to stand between her legs, bringing up his hands to frame her face. 

“This has gone spectacularly wrong. So much for having a plan,” he said, thumbs gently wiping away her tears.

“Plan?” 

“Yeah...” he trailed off and swallowed. “I'm, uh, I'm the secret admirer.”

“What?” Cassandra pulled back, looking at him with wide eyes. A part of her was glad for that, she had wanted it to be him, wanted him to be that romantic, but then--“Varric, you lying bastard! You told me you didn't write them!” She slapped his arm.

“Technically, I didn't write them. I dictated them.” 

“To who?”

“Tiny.” 

“Ugh, of course Iron Bull is involved!” She covered her face with both hands, wanting nothing more than to be swallowed up by the ground. She was a fool. An embarrassed fool. 

Varric gently pulled her hands away, his face soft as he caressed her cheek. “I had wanted to do something romantic. Something fun. Something that might happen in all that 'smutty literature' you're so fond of. I guess it was working out all right until I made you cry. That was not part of the plan.” 

“I am so stupid...” she looked away, more tears welling in her eyes.

“No, you're not. Look, every word of every poem was the heartfelt truth. I wanted to make you feel special, because you _are_ special.” He grabbed her chin, forced her to meet his eyes. “But then I fucked it all up and made you cry, nice going huh?” 

“It is not your--”

“Yes, it is. Because I've obviously been remiss in proving my feelings for you in a proper manner, I was too caught up in this plan to concentrate on the day to day stuff.” 

“I know you love me, Varric. I do. We are comfortable now, and that is a good thing. I would not change that for anything. I know that it is not always passion and romance and--”

“It's not?” He frowned deeply. “I have absolutely dropped the ball.”

Varric took her face between his hands, laid a soft kiss against her lips. “Here's the thing, Cassandra. You are stunning. You are amazing. You are the most wonderful person I have ever known.” He punctuated each declaration with a feather light kiss to her cheek, her nose, her forehead. 

“The truth of the matter is, if those notes had been coming from someone other than myself I would've been quietly seething with jealousy, but I also would've been proud. Because it would mean at least one other person was fully appreciating you the way you deserve.”

“Oh,” she breathed, eyes shut as he continued laying kisses against her face, down her neck, and up the other side. 

“Now, I think I'll finish out my plan if that's all right with you?” 

Her eyes drifted open. “What?”

“There's more to the plan.” He pressed one last kiss against her lips and stepped back. “This will hopefully work, Sparkler said it would. But, as you know, magic is not exactly my forte.” 

Varric fiddled with something she couldn't see and after a moment candles flared to life outside the small clearing. Hundreds of them. 

“How?” she breathed, head whipping around. 

“I placed them days ago.” He paused, looking slightly uneasy. “There's another thing... after some plotting with Buttercup. Truthfully, I'm not sure it's gonna work, but we'll see.” 

There was a faint noise in the distance, like one of Sera's flasks, and Cassandra frowned. She was about to ask if it had gone wrong when something landed on her head. Reaching up she found it to be a flower petal. Then, just like that, she realized it was raining them. 

A myriad of colors and shapes, safely fluttering about them within the ring of candles. Cassandra looked up, awed by the spectacle. 

“Varric, it is beautiful...” She turned back to face him, eyes nearly popping out of her head when she found him kneeling before her. “What are you doing?” 

“I am finishing out my plan.” He took her hand, and she was surprised to find his fingers shook slightly. “Love poems, romantic trinkets, candlelight and flowers... then I...” 

Varric stopped and swallowed, bringing his free hand up, a simple gold ring held between his fingers. “Then I ask you to marry me, and hopefully you don't tell me to sod off. I'm sorry you ever doubted how I felt, I know that's not a good feeling. So please know that I love you, and that you're by far the best that's ever walked into my life and I'd like to keep you in it for as long as possible.” 

She slapped her other hand over her mouth, eyes welling with tears again. It was getting ridiculous, but at this point she no longer cared. 

“I didn't... Shit, I didn't mean to make you cry again.”

“Do you mean that?” 

“The crying thing or the other thing?” 

“The other thing. _That_ thing!” She nodded at the ring as the last of the flower petals fell to the ground, a blanket of reds and pinks and purples all around them. 

His face softened. “Of course I do.” 

Cassandra slid to the ground in front of Varric, nearly bowling him over when she flung her arms around his neck, kissing him soundly. 

When they pulled apart, she grinned at his dazed face. “Ask me again.”

He smiled in return. “Will you marry me, Cassandra?” 

“Yes.” 

He slipped the ring onto her finger and she kissed him again. “And you're not mad at me?” he asked when they parted. 

“Not anymore. But please promise me no more secrets. If you want to tell me something, tell me to my face.” 

“It's a deal.” He lifted her hand, pressed a kiss to her knuckles, the inside of her wrist. “I could start now if you like?” 

“Start what?”

“Telling you everything I want to say.”

She laughed when he moved on from her wrist to her neck, his breath tickling. “What sorts of things do you want to tell me?” she asked, tiling her head and exposing her neck.

He traced his lips over her pulse point, along her jaw. “I could wax poetic about your beauty.” 

Her eyes drifted shut, fingers clutching at his shoulders. “Could you?” 

“Yes,” he said, voice soft. “Do you know when you curl up on my bed with a book while I'm writing, I never get anything done? Because I'll be in the middle of a sentence then I'll just stop and look at you, wondering what the hell this goddess is doing in my room.” 

His lips barely left her skin as he spoke, his breath hot against the juncture between her neck and shoulder. “I can't figure out what you're doing with me, but I'm not going to question it.”

Cassandra pulled back, framed his face with her hands. “I love you, Varric. That is why I am with you. I am yours completely, and I always will be. No one else will ever compare.” 

The smile he gave her was the happiest she had ever seen on his face, and her heart stuttered inside her chest. She leaned forward to press as kiss on the bridge of his nose, the scar where it had been broken; against his cheek, and jaw, and chin. Finally she caught his lips in a kiss, her mouth slanted against his. He groaned into the kiss and his arms, strong and solid and familiar, locked around her waist, tugging her body flush against his. 

When they broke the kiss, he started to kiss another path down to her neck, this time nipping and sucking. “Now I've thought of some other things I'd like to tell you.”

“What are those?” she asked breathlessly. 

He lifted his head to meet her gaze, an utterly roguish look on his face that sent an electric jolt to the pit of her stomach. “All the obscene things I'm going to do to you.”

“Then tell me.” She bit her lip, one side of her mouth curving upward, and arched a brow. A challenge. His eyes darkened and he kissed her in response, caught her lower lip and sucked. Then he pulled back, the roguish grin back in place. 

“First, I need to get something.” He stood up, and Cassandra made distressed noise in the back of her throat. Without him near the night suddenly seemed much cooler. 

He walked to the tree he had been leaning on earlier, grabbing a conveniently stashed blanket. Cassandra placed her hands on her hips. 

“So this was your plan all along?” 

Varric straightened up and gave her a long look before holding up a basket as well. “I had a plan, remember? Blanket. Picnic. _Romantic_ ,” he drawled as he swung the items in his hands. 

“That will be nice for later.” She pointed at the basket. “For now the blanket will do.” 

“Ah, so really you're just here for the obscene things,” he said as he spread out the thick blanket next to her. Cassandra moved behind him, arms going about his waist, and kissed the back of his neck.

“No, I am here for you.” 

He turned around and kissed her again, hands sliding up her sides. Deft fingers wormed their way under the hem of her shirt, and started pulling it up. They broke the kiss long enough for Cassandra to get the shirt over her head, then their lips were glued together again. 

They continued discarding items of clothing until Varric lowered her to the ground, drinking her in as his fingers trailed from the base of her neck, down between her breasts. 

“You are so damned beautiful and I am so damned lucky.” He leaned down, pressed his lips to the shell of her ear. “And I'm going to make you scream my name so loud they'll hear you back at Skyhold,” he whispered as his hand dipped between her legs. 

Cassandra bucked against him. “Mm, I know I wanted you to tell me, but what is it you writers say? Show don't tell?” 

His grin was downright wicked as he moved between her legs, a hand running up from her ankle to the back of her knee and moving it over his shoulder. “My pleasure.” 

 

* * *

They walked back to Skyhold in the morning, when the sun was cresting on the horizon, the distant mountains blazing with golden light. There was a group waiting for them, but Cassandra was too exhausted... too blissfully sated to even fringe embarrassment. 

“Well?” Bull bellowed as they stepped inside the gates, even though Cassandra thought the answer was quite clear: the way she leaned against Varric, his arm right around her waist. 

“She said yes,” Varric called back, his grin broad and smug. 

Then they were converged upon, everyone offering their congratulations, pounding Varric on the back, arms wrapping about Cassandra’s shoulders. She was happy, of course, the smiles and laughter of her friends a wonderful thing.

But the engagement was still new to her, still something she wanted to be only between herself and Varric. A private secret that was theirs, and theirs alone. So she reached around Iron Bull and gripped Varric's hand, pulling him away from the group. 

“Thank you for your kind words, and whatever plotting you helped with. Or lies you told.” She spared a shrewd look toward Iron Bull. His only response was to shrug innocently. “But if you'll excuse us, we have our own celebrating to continue. In private.” 

“That so?” Varric arched a brow as she tugged him along. Behind them was a chorus of catcalls and lewd remarks.

“That is so.”

“Bye everyone!” Varric said over his shoulder, waving haphazardly. “If the world decides it's ending again, don't call. We're busy. Indefinitely.”


End file.
